Legacy

Boy Who Cried Wolf

Sif stirred. She hadn't been asleep but she wasn't exactly awake. She was merely resigned to focus on the cold as reprieve to the chaos of thought. Occasionally she felt a presence of warmth, brief and otherworldly, an ethereal flicker she liked to think was Ollerus holding the hand or kissing the face of her mortal body. But those moments were fleeting and unreliable.

Her chest clenched, so she stood up. She had no concept of time but she knew she had sat in solitude long enough. Pulling her cloak tightly around her, she ventured back to the throne room. Hel's company didn't seem so bad anymore.

"Well, look who's gracing me with her mopey-dopey presence." The cadaverous queen sat prim and proper at her conjured table, pinching dried leaves into a mesh ball. She was wearing white lace gloves instead of the black netting. "Sit down," she gestured to the empty seat across from her. "Have some tea." She handed an empty teapot to the Nybling playing waiter who scampered off, perturbed that he was assigned a subservient role while two of his comrades sat in complacency at the table. One was wearing a crooked bow-tie and the other a frilly bonnet, yet the rest of their bodies were naked as newborns save for the threadbare loincloths. What kind of game was Hel playing with these sad creatures?

"You conjured an entire wardrobe for me," Sif said upon approach, "yet you cannot clothe your poor minions properly." She remained standing.

Hel raised her brow. "Poor minions?" She then snorted, looking to the bow-tied Nybling. "Poor minions, she says." The creature smiled, like a mongrel awaiting a dinner scrap. Hel shook her head. "She pretends to know things about us."

"You will not mock me," Sif warned.

"I will unless you sit down and drink some fucking tea."

Sif eased off, glancing down at the beady black eyes of the Nyblings beaming up at her. What else was there to know about them? They seemed so innocent, so victimized. "Very well." Sif slipped into the chair crossing her ankles and lacing her hands in her lap. She towered over the other three at the table. "There's no need to be rude." She softened her tone. "I come here simply for your company."

Something flickered across Hel's eyes, a tease of vulnerability. She then blurted, "Do you like my hair?"

Sif blinked, surprised and a little amused. This child was so unpredictable. "I do," she replied, admiring the change of style. Hel had swept the raven locks off her face into an up-do, weaving them intricately around the base of the morbidly beautiful crown. "Queen Frigga fashioned her hair in similarly complicated braids. I never had the patience for anything beyond a ponytail."

"I can tell," The girl sassed, eyeing the locks falling around Sif's face. "I mean," she corrected, "you should let me show you some. There are quick and easy tricks that would look pretty in your hair. I've never seen that shade of black before..." she paused, tilting her head. "That's not hair dye, nor is it natural."

"It's a curse." Sif's voice darkened. "One I'd rather not discuss." The Nybling returned with a steaming tea pot, a blessed distraction. "Will I be able to drink tea in my ambiguous condition?"

Hel signaled the Nybling to fill Sif's cup first. "I guess we'll find out. I've never served tea to an inbetweener before. This should be interesting."

Through the swirling steam, Sif saw four sets of curious eyes upon her. She tested her rigid fingers on the tiny handle, pinching with success and bringing the cup to her lips. What should feel like humid heat felt instead like numbing, not a cold numbing, rather injections Eir had given her in the past before surgery. That made sipping difficult, her lips unable to feel contact with the cup's brim. She managed regardless, the liquid skirting across her tongue and racing down her throat. Again, no heat, only more numbing. It wasn't unwelcome.